


Oh, why fear death, be scared of living

by Silvereye



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Accidental time travel into bad future, Bonding Over Similar Traumas, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone is hurt honestly, Found Family, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt Thor (Marvel), M/M, Recovery, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-02 07:04:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18806149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silvereye/pseuds/Silvereye
Summary: On the Statesman, facing Thanos, Loki grabs Thor and escapes. They end on Midgard, in the back yard of the Avengers Facility, four years in the future.





	Oh, why fear death, be scared of living

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WickedlyEmma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WickedlyEmma/gifts).



> Emmawicked - I hope you like it.
> 
> I would like to thank my incomparable beta, who didn't mind me being in a writing fugue for a week, received this 12k monster at the eleventh hour and made it much better. Any potentially remaining crimes against the English language are mine, not hers.
> 
> Title from ["Hope in the Air"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VKrYOUhOeaI) by Laura Marling

#### one: Loki, afraid

Loki used to think there was nothing worse in the world than what Thanos did to him after he fell to the Void. He was wrong. _Worse_ is Thanos' hand around Thor's head. _Worse_ is the almost careless manner in which the Mad Titan is holding an Infinity Stone to Thor's head.

Worse is the way a passage from an old dusty book is etched to the inside of Loki's eyelids: _aspirants must not presume the Stone of Power to be uncomplicated to manipulate. It's domain is of course reflected in its name, but this domain is unfamiliar to most living beings, including to those already acquainted with other forms of power_.

In simpler words: Thor can handle thunderstorms, but this will kill him.

"Alright, stop!" Loki snaps and brings the Tesseract out from its hiding place. There is no way out, other than the obvious one.

"You really are the worst brother," Thor says, slurred but comprehensible. Something small deep in Loki's chest flares. Thor can speak, the Infinity Stone did not do too much damage, something can still be salvaged –

"I assure you, brother, the sun will shine on us again," Loki says and surrenders the stone. He could get Thor out, if he's quick enough. Thanos might kill Loki himself very instant, because this is all the use he's ever going to be to the Mad Titan, but as long as Thor lives it does not matter.

"Your optimism is misplaced," Thanos says and Loki breathes again. So it's the other option, the one where Loki does not yet die painfully and Thanos monologues.

Loki says something, paying the barest attention to the words. Gathering energy for a spell without alerting Thanos' children is more important. When Hulk hits the Mad Titan Loki dives for Thor. Bile rises in his throat. Opening the hidden paths is so much harder here in the void, far from any solid ground, and he cannot waste time because Thanos' favoured son is a good enough sorcerer to know where he's going.

The Maw sees him and raises his hands. Behind him, Heimdall says something. Loki has just managed to wrench open the pathway. There's light like the heart of Bifrost and sound like all the worlds breaking open. Loki has the barest wherewithal to think _this is wrong, this is not how it should_ before the only thing he can do at all is hold on to Thor.

#

#### two: Steve, after the end of all things

"We can always eat peanut butter sandwiches," Nat says, slouching on her favourite chair, an unopened beer bottle in her hand.

"We can," Steve says. "But even I should be capable of mac and cheese." He attempts the sugary cheer that used to sell war bonds, once. "This macaroni dish is very nutritious. Prepare it for victory."

Natasha snorts. "It's mac and cheese, Steve, adding one vegetable isn't going to make it healthy."

"Better than none," Steve says and pokes at the cheese. He's a barely competent cook, since none of his mother's recipes really work with modern ingredients and on his own he tends to optimize all newer recipes towards his own metabolism – most calories with least effort. Natasha is a much better cook, when she has the energy for it, but these days, she usually doesn't.

So: Steve comes over under the pretense of doing the laundry. Steve cooks, Nat makes smart remarks, they eat and he puts away the leftovers. Natasha brings out the beers. On rare occasions she mixes him a separate drink she calls the America special. His body burns alcohol too quickly for beers to be anything but social, but the America special gets him mildly buzzed, which puts it right behind Asgardian mead and ahead of neutral spirits in his preferred alcoholic drinks list.

They eat in silence. He doesn't want to talk about the support group and she's not in the mood to talk about her network. There's only the two of them. The ghosts of the people whose shoes they're trying to fill are quiet.

There's a flash of lightning, thunder nearly at its heels. It's loud and close enough that they both flinch; then Steve realizes it was damp and foggy when he arrived, definitely not thunderstorm weather.

"Is that...?" Natasha whispers, disbelieving, and they're both sprinting for the back door.

It's dark outside, the house lights only barely illuminating the two people out on the back lawn. Steve stops thirty feet short of them. Natasha slows down, shoulder to shoulder with him. She probably can't see much in this light. Steve's night vision is generally slightly better, so he says: "It does look like Thor. Down on the ground. The one kneeling above him looks like Loki."

Natasha's hand goes for her sidearm, an automatic movement, but naturally she didn't wear it for a Thursday dinner at home. Steve hasn't had his shield for years. They're defenseless, or near as.

Loki straightens, arms still around Thor, who looks unconscious.

"What did you do?" Steve calls out.

"I saved him," Loki snaps and Steve registers the way he sounds – not older, they all sound older these days. Less grandiose. Or maybe just mildly concussed. He looks around with a vague bewildered look on his face. "Midgard. You – we have to prepare, Thanos is coming to get the Infinity Stones, you still have the sceptre here somewhere –" He draws a breath. "You don't believe me? Fine. Get a healer for Thor, he can tell you –"

Steve steps closer. Loki looks disheveled, tired to the bone. Thor is breathing. His hair is short and he wears an eyepatch over his right eye. There's an angry red burn like a lightning mark over the left side of his forehead, branching down to his cheek. His mouth is bloody.

"What are you talking about?" Steve asks. He's too tired of tricks.

"Thanos is going to use the Infinity Stones to kill half of all living beings," Loki repeats.

"No," Natasha says. "He already did."

"What?"

"He did that four years ago," Steve says.

Loki stares between the two of them. Then he swallows and looks down at Thor. "First, get my brother a healer. I am in no state to deal with the damage to his head. Lock me in a dungeon if you must, but be assured, I do not wish you any harm. Explain everything else when Thor is awake." He hesitates and adds: "Please."

Steve looks at Natasha. She quirks an eyebrow: a trap?

Steve shrugs: what do we have to lose any more. He kneels by Thor. "Internal injuries?"

"I think not."

Steve gathers Thor in his arms, only somewhat inconvenienced by the sheer bulk of him, carries Thor to the closest empty guestroom and lays him down on the bed. Loki follows like a shadow, Natasha wary on his heels.

"What happened?" Steve asks.

Loki leans on the wall by the door, eyes on Thor. Steve knows that stance well enough to be certain that nothing short of heavy artillery will move Loki. "Please, healer first. Explanations later."

#

#### three: Loki, patient

The Captain and the Widow are talking quietly somewhere in the corridor. About him, about Thor, about a healer named Fine. Loki hopes the healer can arrive quickly enough. He hopes Thor will wake, because he was conscious before the – the _discrepancy_ that happened and is not now and this cannot but mean that something has gone horribly wrong in the meanwhile. He hopes the Captain and the Widow will not actually throw him in a dungeon, but then, he'd take any restraints and stay in them if only it meant they would help Thor faster.

They haven't done imprisoned him yet. He is not sure why. The last time the three of them met he was being escorted back to Asgard in chains after having attempted to conquer their world. They must see him as a monster, not unfairly.

Loki wishes there had been time to ask Thor about his Midgardian friends. He knows the Captain and the Widow's names, of course, because Barton knew Natasha Romanov's and it's near impossible to visit Midgard and not know who Steve Rogers is. Using these names, even thinking them feels like an intimacy he has not been permitted. He knows how the two fight. He knows the type of people his brother likes to befriend: earnest and foolhardy like Thor himself. But he doesn't _know_ anything about the two, not the way he must if they are to stay here for any appreciable span of time.

And stay they must. His magic feels strange, somehow brittle and unstable on a terrifyingly physical level, like the weakness in the body that remains after a long high fever. He could probably weave easier spells, might even be able to open the hidden paths once, but he's not so certain he could do it twice. Dying in the ashen twilight between the worlds, magic spent and body failing would not be his preferred way to go.

The Captain returns, a short olive-skinned man in tow. The healer must have been forewarned, because he raises his eyebrows the barest fraction before asking: "What can you tell me about his injuries?"

Loki enumerates them as well as he knows how: the burn and probable head injury from the Infinity Stone, the wounds from their hopeless battle on the Statesman, those from Thor's fight with Hela. The healer's eyebrows creep upwards.

"Has he received any medical care for any of this?"

"Yes, we healed everything from his duel with Hela as far as we could. There has been no time for the other ones."

The healer nods. "I see. Please leave the room now. I will keep you updated."

Loki does not want to go. They could not _make_ him go. But he remembers something from his very first travel to Midgard, how the healers separate the patients from their loved ones here. This is standard procedure and perhaps following it is a step towards proving he's not what he was when he tried to conquer Midgard.

#

#### four: Natasha, being briefed

"Recent piercing wounds to both hands, healing. Enucleation of right eye, looks clean enough. Even more recent slash wounds and blunt trauma to the torso and legs. Also, what looks like being struck in the head by lightning except I know he would take actual lightning better. Honestly, this is the kind of laundry list I'd expect from you, Captain. Except the enucleation." Doctor Fine sits down at the kitchen table and rubs his forehead.

"And the prognosis?" Natasha asks. She very carefully doesn't look at Steve. Fine is right about that being Steve's style.

"Hard to tell. He may have some amnesia, dizziness, sleep disturbance. Seizures, worst case. Might also heal completely. I would have to take an MRI to have any inkling, but I am not going to stick the unconscious God of Thunder in one. I'll refer you to an ophthalmologist, for the eye. The other wounds will all heal well, if he's anything like you, Captain."

"Thank you," Steve says.

Fine rises, takes his bag, frowns at Loki who is sitting very still and unassuming on the other side of the table from him. "You're his brother and you arrived with him, didn't you? Do you need an examination as well?"

"I am fine," Loki says. He pauses and adds: "Thank you for offering. I appreciate it."

Doctor Fine shrugs, grabs his bag, looks at her instead. "Alright. Ms Romanov, you have my number. If he wakes or seems to get worse, call me immediately. Otherwise, just keep me updated."

The three of them remain alone in the kitchen. "What happened?" Natasha asks, finally. It doesn't look like Loki is going back to Thor's room and intel is always worth having.

Loki smiles, a weary quirk of his mouth. "Many things have happened since last I was on Midgard. Where should I start? I was imprisoned for my crimes. Our mother died. Our father, later. Our sister attempted to conquer Asgard. She was quite good at it. She was the one who got Thor's eye, by the way. We destroyed Asgard the place to stop her." He sighs and looks down again. "Our ship was ambushed by Thanos. He promised to kill Thor unless I gave him the Tesseract and tortured him to prove it."

He's honest. That's the strange thing. Natasha is used to reading people's bodies the same way she would read dossiers about them. The last time she spoke to Loki he was a shifting mess of untruth and theatrics but here in her kitchen the only layer of deception is him trying to be still and unthreatening. She can read everything he doesn't say right off his face and shoulders: he loved his mother, doesn't know what to think of his father, was afraid of the sister, would have preferred to not destroy Asgard and it takes effort for him to speak calmly about everything after that.

"So you gave him the Tesseract," Natasha says. She tries to be neutral, but Loki stiffens anyway.

"I did," Loki says, shortly, and looks at her, assessing, challenging. Natasha gets the feeling he knows her better than he should when he continues: "I do not wish my brother's death. This may be hard to understand, given my history in Midgard, but it is the truth. Would you not have handed over the Infinity Stone, if it were the Captain's head in Thanos' grasp?"

Steve looks grim and heroic at that. Natasha can't help but smile. Oh, Steve would expect her to sacrifice him. He's good at doing the right thing and dying for it. But Natasha is not certain _she_ would be brave enough to choose the world over one of her last remaining friends. The world endures even in this horror. Dead Steve would not.

So she tilts her head and says: "I don't know. I'm glad I never had to find out." An unalloyed truth. The first time she's ever told something like that to Loki.

"You should be glad," Loki says. "That's all there is, really. I wanted to get Thor away from Thanos after he let him go. Something went wrong. Here we are."

There's a silence. Natasha makes an executive decision. Whatever else Loki has done, right now he's attempting to look out for Thor and it looks genuine. She says: "Take the room next to Thor's. As long as you're behaving you can stay here. Any further decisions wait until Thor is awake."

"Thank you," Loki says. "I appreciate it." It's fascinating, the way the words don't quite fit, how he's somewhat obviously trying to be polite and gracious. Like he's not used to saying _thank you_ or _please_ except in extremity and this is one. He rises, bows a fraction and leaves the room before Natasha can decide whether she's going to offer him dinner.

#

#### five: Steve, at midnight

"Time travel." Natasha sighs and places the empty beer bottle on the nightstand with an excessive amount of care. She's drunk, but only to the point where it doesn't impede her noticeably in a combat situation.

It seems vaguely worrying that Steve is so good at discerning the various levels of her inebriation and Nat can unerringly tell when to bother mixing the America special and when not. It doesn't matter. Today is a night worth two America specials. Steve does not feel better, but everything is muted, which is the next best thing. The horror of having to live in this future is less here, in Nat's bedroom with a half-empty glass in his hand.

"Time travel," Steve repeats. "He might be lying, but I don't see any point."

"Yeah. Think he can do it twice?"

Steve takes a swig. "I have no idea. What could we do, anyway? Go back in time and kill Thanos?"

"I don't know. Go back and be on time in Edinburgh."

Steve inhales, holds it, exhales, and resolutely pushes Edinburgh out of his mind. "Go back and ask Strange what the _fuck_ he was thinking."

Natasha chuckles. "Hoist you on that ringship with Stark and Parker. You could have inspired some sense into that, what did Stark say his name was, Quill? and we wouldn't be in this mess."

"No, no, send you back so you could brief your past self on Rumlow's movements and we could capture him before Lagos. Or talk to Tony so Sokovia doesn't happen. The Accords don't happen. We're not on the wrong side of the world when needed. With 20/20 intel past you could move the world."

Nat laughs again. "You have such faith in me, Steve."

Steve shrugs. "Of course."

This is somehow not the right thing to say. Natasha closes her eyes, draws a ragged breath and says: "None of it would fix this for certain, though."

Nothing would. Steve finishes his drink. "Want to go to the gym and spar?" This keeps the ghosts away, sometimes, often enough that they know each other's styles through and through. Steve generally wins on the ground, because he's twice as heavy and about as skilled on the mat. If he can't take Natasha down she wins, though, because she's very fast on her feet and he still hasn't figured out a good counter for some of her moves.

"Jesus, no, we'd kill each other accidentally." She sighs. "Stay here."

"Stay where?" Steve asks carefully.

"Not in my bed, Steve," Nat says. "I thought we established there's no pity fucking going to happen in this compound. Just, here. In the house. Don't leave me alone in here with two time-traveling Asgardians, one of whom did try to take over the world the last time he was passing through."

"Okay," Steve says. "My old room still there?" He doesn't offer to take first watch. He hasn't slept deeply enough to miss an attack for years, and neither has she.

Natasha nods. "Yeah." She rests her head on his shoulder for a moment.

Steve rests his head on hers and closes his eyes. This is – nice. Nat is probably the only person in the world with whom he doesn't have to be alright every second of every day. Doesn't have to _move on_ and talk about being in the ice like it's all the same, like all pain comes in ration tins of standard size. He still doesn't allow himself to be _broken_ , because she's already attempting to carry the world and doesn't need his weight on top of that, but at least he can be _not alright_.

She gets up and gently takes the glass from his hand. "Shoo, Rogers. I sure can't carry you to bed, although I can tuck you in."

Steve laughs, for the first time this… week? Longer? "Thanks for the offer, but no. Good night, Nat."

"You, too."

#

#### six: Thor, adrift at sea

Thor wakes absolutely certain he's going to die. He can't see anything. There's something binding his arms and body down. Thanos must have done something Thor cannot remember. Why can't he remember? He attempts to struggle against his chains and cannot lift a finger.

He calls lightning. Pain lances through his head from temple to temple instead, bright and all-consuming. Mercifully, darkness follows.

He wakes again and there's a dim light somewhere behind his eyelids. He can hear a rhythmic ticking somewhere in the distance. Midgard. This feels like Midgard. This time, he can move his fingers enough to realize the thing holding him down is nothing but a blanket. He's terrifyingly weak.

A rustle of cloth on cloth. Then Loki's hand, spread over Thor's chest as if checking for a heartbeat. "We're safe," Loki says, sounding like he has not slept for days. "Are you..." but Thor loses his grasp on consciousness before Loki can finish the sentence.

When he wakes for the third time he's strong enough to open his eyes halfway. The light is a dim blue. Midgard, dusk, clear evening. This at least he knows for certain. He's abed in a small room with pale yellow walls.

Steve Rogers is sitting by his bed, looking out of the window at the moment. Thor cannot believe it has only been two years since they last met. There are shadows under Steve's eyes and a grimness to his face. He looks the way he did after the battle where Wanda Maximoff made him see visions, distant and somber, only somehow even worse, more permanent. As if he has dreamed whatever vision it was for every night those two years.

"Steve," Thor says, or tries to. It comes out as a half-breath, half-whisper.

Steve starts and turns to him. "Thor." In motion, he looks slightly better. Then he turns away, out of Thor's field of vision. "Loki," Steve says. "He's awake."

"Thank you," Loki says, half-fuzzy with sleep and then he's kneeling by Thor's bed, touching his forehead. Loki _also_ looks awful. Thor is starting to dislike this.

"What happened?" Thor asks.

"I got you away from Thanos," Loki says. "We are on Midgard. Steven and Natasha have been very hospitable."

"The others? Heimdall? Valkyrie? Hulk?" Speaking is hard, but he has to know.

Loki shakes his head. "I do not know. There was no time."

Thor sighs and closes his eyes against the tide of loss. There was so little left of Asgard and now this remnant might be dead, too. Sleep threatens to drag him down to the dark. He blinks, forces his eyes open again. "The Tesseract."

Loki's face goes hard and brittle like a diamond. "I could not allow it to be destroyed with Asgard. I could allow your death much less. I gave it to him, yes."

"Oh, Loki," Thor breathes.

"I am not hard-hearted enough these days to watch you die," Loki says. "Besides, you're the God of Thunder and I the God of Mischief. I can endure it better."

"Don't."

"Since you ask." Loki says. He strokes Thor's forehead with careful fingers, steering clear of his blind eye, of the tender spot on the left side of his face. "Rest. I will be here when you wake."

"When will..." you rest, Thor intends to ask, but he cannot resist sleep any longer.

#

#### seven: Natasha, in motion

"Am I a horrible person if I like having something to do?" Natasha asks, slightly out of breath. Steve would be out of her league in a real fight. Sparring like this he's only a good challenge.

"What kind of question is that?" Steve asks and throws a punch. She twists out of the way and to the left, only just. Steve frowns. "Are you distracting me?"

Natasha gets her legs around his neck and twists. "Not originally."

Steve goes down with the inertia, but takes ahold of one of her legs and turns, so she hits the mat first. He doesn't let go. After that it's her attempting to choke him out with her legs before he can get all the way free and attempt to push her through the mat, as usual.

He struggles for an entire half-minute and only then taps out. She lets go. He remains down on the mat, still more purple in the face than he should be, so she sits by him and waits.

"What do you mean by horrible person?" Steve asks after a while. His voice is hoarse. He should have surrendered at least ten seconds earlier, but then, it's not like Natasha has not tapped out late enough to get her ribs seriously bruised on two separate occasions. It makes it better, on worst days, and both of them have killed enough people to know what is dangerous and what merely painful.

"Having them here feels like something to do," Natasha says. "Having to update doctor Fine and keeping an eye on them. The network has been quiet for these past two weeks, so any distraction is better than none, but..."

"If preferring action to inaction makes someone a horrible person I'm gonna be thrown out of Boy Scouts any minute now."

Natasha snorts. "You were never enrolled in Boy Scouts. I've read your file."

Steve nods. "I wasn't. Just, don't start blaming yourself for the good things you're doing. We have enough blame on our shoulders without it."

She sighs. "Yeah. Sorry."

"Don't be," he says, easy and firm. "It's hard for everyone."

And that includes you, Natasha wants to say, but she knows Steve too well. Steve will make sure everyone is all right before he pays attention to himself. Steve will not bleed on anyone else if he can help it all – she saw him at Margaret Carter's funeral, after Edinburgh, after the Halving and each time it was obvious he had cried, but he never permitted anyone to actually see it. If the only comfort he can allow himself are the so-called laundry runs and unwise sparring and drinking with her, then so be it.

"Well, I for one am not going to ask you if it gets any easier," she says. "Who died and appointed you the nice shepherd anyway?"

Steve breath catches in his throat and for a moment Natasha thinks she miscalculated, but then he starts laughing, hoarse and helpless. "That was awful," he says when he can breathe again.

"I aim to help."

"You do," he says, looking up at her. His face is back to its normal color. The lights of the gym flatten all the creases the last four years have drawn around his eyes, draw long shadows of his eyelashes, turn his eyes the distant pale blue of a winter noon in Natasha's childhood.

It would be terribly easy to kiss him. Natasha can't say she hasn't considered it, because four years is a long enough time to consider all the ways to forget the world. Sex would work, better than drinking, better than sparring, and kissing him when he's like this would be so terribly easy.

It would also be terrible, because underneath the steel Steve is – not old-fashioned, not naive. A romantic, most precisely. He might come to her bed anyway, because he cannot stand the world, either, but he's still waiting for love. They care about each other and trust each other, but that is not the same as love, or at least not the right species of it.

So she hops to her feet and holds out her hand. "Let's go. I'm cooking tonight."

He takes it, careful to not draw her out of balance. "May I help?"

"Of course," she says, and bumps her shoulder into his arm. "You may finally learn to not screw up pasta."

#

#### eight: Thor, in a sickroom

After two weeks, Thor can walk ten steps unaided, enough to make it to bathroom and back to bed afterwards. It should not feel like an accomplishment. It does, and this makes him ill-tempered.

"Is there really no spell that could fix this?" he asks one afternoon.

"For the tenth time, no, I do not know any." Loki hesitates. It's something all three of them do around Thor. As if Thor is made of spun glass, fragile and weak. The only one who never hesitates is the healer, Fine, and he has only visited twice.

"What is it?" Thor asks.

Loki sits by him, glances towards the door. Fiddles with the edge of his jacket, a comparatively soft Midgardian thing. Finally he whispers: "I do not think I could heal you even if I knew such a spell. My magic feels wrong. As if I am sick."

Thor considers that. "Is it Midgard itself? No, you had no such problems the last times you were here. Did Thanos somehow poison you?"

"I do not know," Loki says, a cool edge to his voice that warns Thor to not push further. "I may have strained myself lugging your senseless form across the void. All those muscles are quite heavy, brother."

Thor snorts. "And yet I would be able to carry your senseless form with ease if I were not sick. They are worth something."

"I suppose so."

They are quiet for a while. Loki keeps picking at the edge of his jacket.

"I feel useless," Thor says. "It has been a fortnight. I do not know how long the Asgardians can survive on the Statesman, but with every day their chances get smaller. What kind of king am I, if I cannot help them?"

"If I could go back and get them, I would," Loki says, an odd finality to his voice. "But neither of us can."

Midgard's space travel is barely more than a joke. They're not going to be able to evacuate the Asgardians, either. "So they die?" Thor demands.

Loki presses his lips together. "I stole you away from Thanos' very grasp. This may have condemned all of them the moment we were gone. Stop blaming yourself for things you cannot change."

There's something large and barbed in Thor's throat. He swallows against it. "Then there will be retribution."

"There will, but not before you're better."

"If we went to Nidavellir," Thor says, a plan coalescing in his head. "I do not dare to call lightning when I'm like this, but the dwarves forged Mjolnir, they might be able to forge another weapon that would let me control it. I could defeat him, if I were armed." He hadn't been, on the Statesman. There had been very few weapons and he could not have used his best one in a fragile metal shell without hurting the Asgardians.

"Armed and _hale_ ," Loki says. "You are not going anywhere like this." He raises a hand, pre-empting Thor's protest. "Your strategy seems sound, but I am no soldier. Discuss it with the Captain. When you can walk to the kitchen."

It has taken Thor two weeks to be able to walk ten steps. It only takes him another to walk a hundred. He makes it to the kitchen, Loki hovering by his side all the way, half-collapses on the nearest chair and announces: "I have a plan to defeat Thanos."

Steve and Natasha exchange careful glances. They're in the middle of a meal, something pale served with plants. Thor suddenly feels ravenous.

"A plan?" Steve asks, getting up to set two more places at the table. Natasha pushes the pot of food across the table.

"I need to go to a place called Nidavellir to acquire a new weapon, since Mjolnir was destroyed." Saying it out loud still stings. "With that, I should be able to match him in a fight. The only truly complicated part is traveling to Nidavellir and wherever Thanos is at the moment. I am sure Stark will be able to think of something."

Where is Stark? Thor has not paid attention to it, but now that he thinks of it, only four people have visited him: Loki and Steve and Natasha and healer Fine. He cannot say he was particularly close to Barton or Stark and they did leave the team, but surely they would at least like to know he is on Midgard. And the rest of the team – are they all on a mission without Natasha and Steve?

Steve and Natasha exchange another glance.

"Tony and I are not on speaking terms," Steve says, delicate like a duelist, heavy as a mountain.

"Well, he's not fond of me, either," Natasha says. "Thor… a lot has happened while you were away. Are you sure you want us to lay it all out right now?"

"Of course," Thor says, bewildered. "I do not understand. What quarrel would stop you and Stark from working together to defeat Thanos? Did others not attempt to reconcile you? Vision would certainly be wise enough."

Their faces go still in near unison. Then Natasha says: "I'll start at the beginning. Some months after you left, there was an accident on a mission. Enough people died that United Nations wanted to… restrict Avengers. To make us accountable to them."

"I didn't trust it," Steve says.

"But Tony supported it. I think he felt guilty about Sokovia. Well, somebody was using Steve's friend Bucky to commit acts of terrorism, General Ross wanted to bring him in and things got worse until half of us became fugitives. Tony tried to kill Bucky, Steve tried very hard to not kill Tony, we all hid in Wakanda for half a year."

"What?" Thor asks.

Natasha shrugs. "A Sokovian whose family had died during our fight with Ultron planned all this to split us. It was horribly well done."

"And you did not reconcile with Stark after you learned it was all orchestrated?"

"I knew Bucky had killed Tony's parents and I did not tell him. He was understandably sore about that. Then Rhodey got hurt in our last battle. I wasn't going to push."

"Perhaps someone should have." Thor rests his elbows on the table, his chin on his knuckles. "You said you were fugitives. This is the Avengers Facility. What happened? Where is everyone else?"

"Dead, mostly," Natasha says. "They… fuck. Sorry, Steve. That one's on you." She closes her eyes, presses her hands to her lips as if in prayer.

Steve puts a hand on her shoulder and continues. "Vision sided with Tony and Wanda with me, but they were dating, I think. Afterwards, they met in Europe, every month or so. It was for personal reasons, nothing to do with the Accords, so I wasn't going to stop her from sneaking off.

Thanos' soldiers came to New York and kidnapped Tony, Peter Parker and Stephen Strange, the wielder of the Time Stone. Maybe thirty minutes later they struck Vision and Wanda in Edinburgh. They had no time to call us." He stops. Inhales, exhales, his face like stone. "We were too late. Thanos must have gotten the rest of the stones. A few days later lots of people turned to dust, including Sam and Bucky."

"And Parker and Strange and Clint's family, for all we know. Scott Lang. T'Challa and his sister. Half of… all living beings," Natasha says.

"Tony got back to Earth. He had somehow stumbled on Thanos' adopted daughter who was trying to kill Thanos. She had a spaceship she could operate. We exchanged words. Well. He said words, I did not. He told us to take the goddamn Facility if we wanted it, we had lost and he was done."

"We went looking for Thanos, us two, Rhodey, Nebula, Bruce. He had destroyed the Stones."

"It's like he wanted us to kill him," Steve whispers.

"I hope he got an infection in those burns first," Natasha says. Thor almost flinches. He has never heard her so vicious before.

"And you did all this while I was flat on my back in your bed?" he asks.

"Thor..." Natasha says, not ungently. "We did that four years ago."

"Four years?" This cannot be possible.

"Thanos' sorcerer hit me with something when I was sneaking you away. And I think Heimdall tried to open the Bifrost, without his sword. I think something went so wrong we traveled in time, not only in space," Loki says. He has been so quiet it has been possible to forget him also sitting at the table.

"Four years?" Thor asks again.

Four years means that the Asgardians are dead, that Thanos has completed his plan, that Thor has failed. It is no wonder Steve and Natasha look so old and weary. It has been four years of nightmare for them.

He gets up, heedless of the others' alarm and stumbles away, in the vague direction of his room. His legs fail him, or perhaps his sense of direction does, because he straggles through a door that's definitely unfamiliar and then he is outside.

It is dusk. Stars are starting to show in the clear blue sky, the constellation roughly like those Jane showed him, years (and years) ago. It seems strange they're all still there. But stars are not alive. Not the way Thor is and so many (half of everyone in the Nine Realms and other places) are not.

He sinks down on the steps and cries.

##

#### nine: Loki, exhausted

"You have to eat," Loki says.

Thor looks at him and then away. "I am not hungry."

"Nonetheless." It has been another three days. Thor must have eaten at some point, because a complete fast of this length would have caused him to faint by now. Loki does not know when it happened. He does know it is not enough. It is important to be consistent with food when healing.

Thor looks like – like shit, the Midgardians would call it. Too ashen, too thin, the burn on his face only mostly healed by now. He looks fragile.

It terrifies Loki. Between the two of them Loki has always been the breakable one and Thor the one who is stronger, more martial, easier to make friends, more certain of himself. Loki gets in trouble, Thor helps him out, historically Loki gets in a newer and larger trouble, Thor comes to help him again. This is how it works.

"Think of the retribution," he says.

"On whom?" Thor demands. "Do you think Thanos still lives somewhere, waiting for me to come and strike his head off his shoulders? Will we go and find every man and woman and beast that has ever served him and kill them for doing so? How many of those for every Asgardian?"

"Do you want to do it?" Loki asks. He does not relish the thought. Neither of them is a god of slaughter. And yet, Loki would gladly agree to follow Thor to this carnage if it would bring some life back to Thor.

Thor sighs. "No. I am tired of death."

Loki nods. Then he makes a sandwich. Midgardian cooking is very different from what little he picked up back in Asgard, but anyone could manage bread and butter and thinly sliced meat. He pushes the sandwich across the table, in front of Thor. "Eat."

"I told you I was not hungry."

"And I told you you must eat." Loki sighs. Why must Thor be so stubborn? "It's not like I have anyone left, other than you, and now you are intending to willfully waste away, too. What a cruel fate."

"Stop it," Thor says and takes the sandwich.

"Oh joyous day," Loki says, deadpan. "I will see my brother live another day and not perish of starvation."

"Are you quoting one of your plays?"

"This was improvised."

Thor nods and finishes the damned sandwich. Then he stares at the table for half a minute and finally says: "I'm going for a walk."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"No. I promise to not fall over this time."

Loki has to leave it at that, because Thor would not take kindly to hovering. He watches Thor make his way across the room, listens to his careful steps down the corridor leading to the back door, feels the draft when the door opens and closes.

It occurs to Loki that between the two of them he has almost all the experience assembling himself from ruins. Thor has known near as much loss, true, but Thor himself has never been broken before. Only defeated. Only laid low. Never broken.

Loki does not know how to translate his experience to words Thor would understand. Their temperaments are rather different, quicksilver and gold, evening and noonday. What has worked for him might not for Thor.

Loki finds Steve in one of the little-used meeting rooms, sitting in the sunbeam and drawing something in a sketchbook.

"I would like you to speak with my brother," Loki says without any preamble.

"About what?" Steve asks.

Loki raises a helpless palm, lets it fall. "He does not eat and I know he does not sleep well. He blames himself. I would prefer if he did not perish out of guilt."

"He doesn't listen to you?"

"Not much." Loki sighs. "And I do not know what to say. I am exceptionally good at surviving, talented at speaking, but speaking about surviving to my brother? That I cannot do."

"Okay," Steve says.

Loki closes his eyes, nods. "Thank you."

#

#### ten: Thor, by the river

Thor gets out of the house and heads upriver, following the shore. It is not exactly easy going, as the ground is uneven and grass is long enough here to tangle his still-weak legs. He persists. He wants to get away from the house.

One of the trees has fallen, branches dipping down into the river, trunk at a comfortable height for sitting. Thor holds onto a larger branch for balance and sits down. The wood is smooth and sun-warmed under his hands. If he closes his eyes he can imagine he's in Asgard, as the river here sounds almost like the sea there.

After a while, Thor hears footsteps. He says: "Go away, Loki."

"I'm Steve, actually. May I join you?"

Thor shrugs. "As long as you are not here to feed me a sandwich."

Steve huffs a laugh. "That wasn't on my mind."

"Stay, then."

The tree moves a little as Steve sits on the trunk by him. Thor expects him to say something, attempt to cheer him up, because Steve seems to have a speech for every occasion, but Steve is quiet. They look at the river, gray and glimmering under the sky that cannot decide whether it is overcast or not.

It is late spring already, but it is not warm out here in half-shadow and Thor is not as healed as he would want to be. After a while Thor inches closer to Steve, until they're shoulder to shoulder. Steve is never cold. He can _feel_ cold, but Steve himself is always a few degrees hotter than an average Midgardian, no matter if they're in New York in summer or somewhere in an icy forest in February. It's as if there's a furnace under his skin.

"What do we do now?" Thor finally asks.

"I don't know," Steve says. "We live. That's all we can do."

"I do not think I deserve it," Thor says and hears the words as if someone else is speaking them. It does not make them less true.

"It's not about deserving. It's just what you get." Steve says it as if it is simple. As if he believes it. He does not look towards Thor, which is a mercy.

"I was the king of Asgard. I failed them all." Dead because of Thanos, dead because of the cold airless void. Ultimately, dead because of him.

"We all failed," Steve says. Thor hears the fracture in his voice, nearly imperceptible. Steve continues: "Loki told us Thanos was torturing you. That you didn't have your hammer. Unarmed and wounded against a Titan is not a fair fight."

Thor sighs. Steve pats his other shoulder, the one not already touching his own.

"Everyone I loved is dead," Thor says, careful, as if putting weight on a previously wounded leg. "My parents, the Warriors Three, Heimdall, probably Lady Sif and the Valkyrie. All the Asgardians. Asgard itself. Loki is the only one left."

Steve is quiet. Thor can hear his measured breathing.

"Usually this is the part where I say something inspiring about going in the ice," Steve says. "I'm too tired for inspiring and trying to compare wounds is a fool's errand, anyway. You have me and Natasha, if you want. We can't replace those you lost and we're sorry company, but we're here."

Thor does not trust his voice. He leans against Steve's shoulder. Steve rubs his other arm. It must be getting cool to the touch by now, but Steve makes no fussy remarks about returning to the house.

"Does it ever stop aching?" Thor asks another while later.

Steve shakes his head. "No. But eventually you get used to it."

#

#### eleven: Loki, unquiet

"They're going to be fine," Natasha says.

Loki starts. He heard her coming to the kitchen and moving near the coffee machine, of course, but she rarely speaks with him when there's only the two of them. Steve is much the same. Loki does not think it's intentional. It is not like he himself has figured out how to start conversations.

"What do you mean?"

"Thor was walking upriver. Steve went in the same direction some time later. He'll make sure Thor doesn't fall into the river," Natasha says. Loki cannot tell by her voice whether she is joking or not. She is like a silver mirror sometimes, polished and utterly impenetrable.

"It is not Thor's physical safety I worry about," he says.

"I know," Natasha says. "Coffee?"

"If it's no trouble. Thank you."

Natasha hands him a mug and sits down on the other side of the table. She drinks her coffee mixed with milk and sugar. Loki has come to the conclusion he likes his unadulterated and almost-bitter. There are many things he does not like about Midgard, but coffee is not one of them.

"If anyone knows what he's going through, it's probably Steve," Natasha says after a while.

"And not I?" Loki demands.

Natasha regards him. "Don't get me wrong, it goes in the other direction, too. Between me and Thor he's probably better at understanding what Steve goes through."

She keeps looking at him. Loki lowers his eyes, unwilling to answer her, and drinks his coffee. He would brew it stronger, but this is good nonetheless.

"How are you not jealous?" he asks after a while. "I know you are his best friend, these days. How do you reconcile that with not being the best person to understand him any more?"

Strangely, Natasha smiles. "Easy. I never have been. You should know Steve and me well enough by now to get that we're not that much alike. He's stubborn, I'm pragmatic, he would rather die than bleed on anyone else, I know when to request help. He's a good person, down to the marrow, and I haven't been, historically, even though I try. I know him. I care about him. I can figure out what he's thinking. This is not the same thing as being able to put myself in his shoes."

"It is strange to think of these as separate," Loki says.

"I've never thought of them as the same thing. Life is not black and white. Just because I am not all things to Steve does not mean I am nothing at all to him." She rises. "Looks like they're coming back. I've got some calls to make."

Loki looks at Thor and Steve walking over the lawn. They're shoulder to shoulder and for a moment he feels the same pinprick of pain he used to, seeing Thor with Warriors Three and Lady Sif. How easily Thor makes friends. Loki cannot begrudge him this friend, though. Thor does walk taller, something of old confidence in his shoulders.

Steve breaks off before they reach the house and Thor enters the kitchen alone. He looks – better. He notices Loki and says: "I have been somewhat unfair with you."

"What."

"You have been cajoling me to sleep and eat for this entire time. I am grateful, but you should not have had to."

Loki rises and intends to say something clever, likely, but Thor walks closer and envelops him in a hug. After the first startled moment Loki hugs him back.

"We will be alright," Thor says.

"I think we will."

#

#### twelve: Steve, in the dead of night

Steve looks at his alarm clock for the tenth time. The red numbers stare back at him. 03:03 a.m. He sighs and gets out of the bed. Three in the morning seems to be a watershed: if he has not fallen asleep by now he is not going to.

He knows why he can't sleep. Tomorrow – today by now – is the fourth anniversary of their utter failure. The anniversary of the Halving will be the day after tomorrow. The week around those two dates has been the worst for him every year, worse than Victory Day or Memorial Day or any other date related to other battles.

Natasha somehow sleeps more soundly during that week. Steve has been awake, or mostly awake for three days now. The days are long and gray and interlaced with enough espresso to spike anyone else's blood pressure to mildly dangerous levels (even – _no Steve, don't think of it_ ). The nights are interminable spans of time spent staring at the ceiling and falling into short naps stitched with nightmares.

This is the only option. Last year Steve tried carefully-calibrated sleeping pills and was unable to wake from the dreams, which made it worse. The year before that he tried Natasha's America specials, the only time he's been actually drunk after the ice, and it made no difference.

Steve goes to the gym. He's probably not up for a good workout, but he can at least – punch the bag for a while. Maybe.

The lights are on, turned to low. Steve didn't think anyone else would be awake so late.

Thor is on the floor.

Steve freezes. In the dim light he can almost see this large sparse room as the train station in Edinburgh – _no, it is not, focus_ – can smell the blood, so much of it – _there is no blood here_ – and Thor is down and Steve is late again, always too late – _check his vitals, go check his vitals_ – what use is he at all?

"Steve?" Thor asks, getting to his feet. "I did not disturb your sleep, did I?"

Not dead. Only resting. Steve should calm down.

He cannot.

"Steve?" Thor asks again, halting five steps from him. He peers at Steve's face and whatever he can see in it makes him frown. "You are at the Avengers Facility," he says, slow and deliberate. "There is no battle here. You are safe. Breathe."

Steve takes a breath. It feels like it used to, thin and insufficient. He takes another and this one is slightly better.

Thor steps closer, raises his hands, grasps Steve's shoulders. He moves so slowly that Steve's mind does not register this as a threat. Thor's hands are very warm through Steve's T-shirt, which means Steve is running colder than he should. Thor's hands are also extremely solid. The room is not overlaid with Edinburgh any more.

Steve closes his eyes and nods. "Thank you," he says. Even that comes out brittle.

Thor does not let go. "I am sorry for frightening you. You must have thought I had fainted."

"No," Steve says. "Not that." He breathes in, holds it, exhales. It does not help. He's exhausted and his head hurts and his eyes feel like they're full of sand but even if he did go to bed, it would be of no use. The only thing left is dragging himself through, one step after another and he's not going to give up, but God, he's just so _tired_. "I thought you were dead," he adds.

Thor smiles, warm and reassuring and completely confused about what it is that has disturbed Steve. "I do not think I am going to die particularly soon. You need not fear that."

"Edinburgh was today four years ago," Steve says. "I thought of that when I saw you."

It had been late evening in Edinburgh. That part of the town had been mostly deserted, the few inhabitants asleep or in hiding. The train station had been empty, twenty minutes until the next train. No one had stopped Steve and Sam and Natasha.

The thing was, there could have been _hope_. All three of them had been good enough at analyzing battlefields to come to the same inevitable conclusion. If only the circumstances had been _slightly_ different. That's what got him then, has kept eating away at him and Natasha this entire time.

Vision had been stabbed in the back first, his body in his base form, which meant Thanos' soldiers had ambushed them. He had been slumped against a railing. None of the damage in the station had been caused by the Mind Stone, so he had not been able to fight by then. Wanda had obviously tried to stay between Vision and the attackers and this constraint had made numbers much more useful than they would have been otherwise. She had seemed to have gone for force instead of finesse, so when Thanos' soldiers won, they had made very certain she would stay down.

The blood had still been sticky. Steve and the others would have made it on time, if they had had some forewarning, anything at all.

So many small details, each of them insufficient to be the one thing that doomed them, and yet, spiraling down to an inevitable end.

Steve realizes he's crying, tears sliding down his cheeks. He can't break like this. Not in front of Thor who lost his entire world much more recently, who was so ill only a few weeks ago, who should not have to see Steve like this. Steve is Captain America. Others shouldn't have to take care of him. But he can't stop crying, no matter how much he tells himself to.

Steve tries to turn his face away. Thor takes the last step closer and – hugs him? Steve could step back and escape, Thor's hold is loose enough to make it easy, but Thor's arms feel like the only truly real thing in the last two days. He sighs and lowers his forehead to Thor's shoulder.

Thor is a couple of inches taller than Steve. His shirt smells mildly floral like the laundry detergent Natasha likes to buy for everyday clothing. Underneath it there's a scent like ozone. He's rubbing his hand up and down Steve's spine, slow and rhythmic.

"I'm sorry," Steve says against Thor's clavicle, when he's sure his voice is not going to betray him, too. "I don't know what got me. Sleep deprivation, I guess. I can't get any sleep around this date."

Thor hums. Steve can both hear and feel it, deep in Thor's chest. "I do not think I will fall asleep, either. Would you want to watch a, what was the word, a movie?"

"Alright," Steve says. Movies are a step up from the bare ceiling of his bedroom, even if picking one is hard around this date. No westerns, no detective stories, no art movies where a character dies, and there goes most of his usual fare. Most war movies are faintly ridiculous year-round, comedy often reminds him how much time passed while he was in the ice and romantic movies are either ridiculous or painful, sometimes both. "I might pick something that bores you, though."

"We shall see," Thor says.

They relocate to the living room. Steve digs through the library and finds a documentary about Pre-Raphaelites he has not seen yet. Art history is usually safe.

After a while Steve rests his head on Thor's shoulder. He's too tired to follow the movie properly, which is probably a pity. But this is nice in its own way. Maybe they can rewatch it when he's not out of his mind with sleep of deprivation.

Maybe they can make a habit out of this, the part of his mind that gets emboldened by sleep deprivation says. Thor seems to be interested in the movie, even though he must know much less about this part of history than Steve does. His arm around Steve's shoulders is solid and so warm. Perhaps next time they can watch something about – space? Norse myth? The locations the Avengers have only visited when something's horribly wrong, to see how these places look like when not in the middle of disaster?

 _Wuxia_ , Steve thinks distantly. _We should watch wuxia when I can handle it again._

He falls asleep and does not dream of Edinburgh.

#

#### thirteen: Thor, on the sofa

The movie is fascinating. Thor cannot quite keep track of all the characters, there are many of them and more of their feuds, but the art is beautiful and the story compelling. Loki might like it, for the characters. Steve probably likes it for – the art? No, not entirely. The feuds are heated and the world dangerous, but there are no catastrophes, no wars, all the pain small enough to be endured.

Steve falls asleep somewhere around the middle of the movie, his head heavy on Thor's shoulder. His breathing is deep and even, the sleep seemingly dreamless. Thor is afraid to even touch Steve, to wake him from what must be the best rest he has gotten in days.

By the end of the movie Steve has slid halfway down Thor's arm, head in the crook of his elbow. It cannot be comfortable.

Thor resigns himself to being a pillow and eases Steve the rest of the way down. Steve curls up on the couch, head on Thor's thigh. He sighs something completely unintelligible and sleeps on. Thor reaches for the blanket spread over the next chair, manages to get it on third try without jolting Steve and spreads it over him.

Thor does not know how long he sits there, looking out of the windows, softly stroking Steve's hair. It has been bright outside for quite a while, but no one else is moving in the house yet when Steve's breathing changes,.

Steve sits up, rubs a hand across his face. The years return to his face one by one, the creases between his eyebrows deepening again, the shadows under his eyes darkened by those in the room instead of being washed out by the pale predawn light. He looks away, cheeks heating. "I'm sorry," he says.

"I did not mind," Thor says.

Steve looks at Thor. The set of his shoulders is very familiar. The brave soldier. "It is not your duty to take care of me."

"Whose is it, then?" Thor asks, attempting to be gentle.

"I should be able to handle myself."

"So should a King of Asgard, and yet you have helped me. I have not done anything I did not want to do. The last night did not tax me, and I hope you were able to get some rest."

Steve nods. His cheeks are pink again. "I didn't intend to fall asleep on you."

"I truly did not mind," Thor says.

Steve nods again. He does not turn his eyes away and neither does Thor. It is quiet, the only sound apart from their breathing birdsong in the distance.

Thor reaches out and brushes his fingers over Steve's cheek, slow enough to not startle Steve. Steve leans into the touch, the barest fraction, and looks at Thor, eyes wide, lips slightly parted. In the morning sunlight he looks like a god.

Thor kisses him, gently, barely more than a brush of their lips, and draws back. He does not wish to overwhelm Steve, not with this, not with anything.

Steve keeps looking at him, eyes brighter than a blue star. Then he slides his own hand into Thor's hair and kisses back, heated and certain and Thor's breath catches, because this is better than anything he has ever dreamed.

"So," Steve says, leaning his forehead against Thor's.

"So," Thor echoes.

"I'm really not alright," Steve says and Thor's suddenly cold, but Steve continues: "In general, I mean. I am… alright with this. Better than alright." He smiles at that. "But you should not have to carry me just because I'm not alright at all, some days."

"And what if I wish to carry you?" Thor asks. "You have your dark days, I shall undoubtedly have mine, I hope we shall get through them together. Stop attempting to protect me from myself. I know what I want."

Steve looks down, then to his right, smiles again. "Well. I can't argue with that." He hesitates and says: "I don't think I'm much use today, or tomorrow, or the day after. But I should be better after that and there's this Hungarian restaurant in the town. Do you want to go, next week?"

"Of course I do," Thor says.

#

#### fourteen: Natasha, learning

"Another thing I do not understand," Loki says one evening, when Steve and Thor have gone off to a date in town, "is why you were so easy to forgive me."

They're sitting in the living room. Loki is creating small illusions between his hands, testing his healing powers. Natasha is reading a comprehensive update on the state of agriculture and allowing herself to feel hopeful. She's not exactly a specialist, but it sure sounds like things are getting better.

She's still half-distracted by the report, so she says: "Because Thanos was controlling you," without thinking.

There's a sound like a balloon breaking. Loki's hands are empty. He's staring at her, almost afraid. "How do you _know_ that?" he finally asks.

Natasha puts down the tablet. "When you attacked New York, you were obviously after the Tesseract as much as Earth itself. Clint said it seemed like you had someone backing you. Thanos wanted the Infinity Stones. It's not that hard to figure out."

"I could have been willing," Loki says.

"Possible, but unlikely. It's as if there are two Lokis: the one that attacked New York and the one who has been doing his utmost to seem civil and unthreatening for the last months. Thor spoke highly of you every time he was around. You were acting the entire time you were in New York. I think that one was the fluke, not this one."

"Sometimes you terrify me," Loki says quietly.

"Thanks."

"It still does not erase anything I did. Those were still my hands and my actions, no matter if Thanos' lieutenant was going to torture me for failing or not."

"I know. And some people won't ever forgive you for it. I'm just not one of them." Natasha looks at him. "What I really want to know is how it happened. You were a prince of Asgard. How did you end up in Thanos' control?"

Loki's shoulders go still. He draws a breath and does not look at her. "You do not know? Between Thor and all the Midgardians who learned something of it you of all people should be able to guess at the truth."

"Thor doesn't speak of it. Coulson and Clint only knew so much."

"I see," Loki says. He shakes his shoes off, puts his feet on the couch, rests his elbows on his knees. "I may have devised a scheme that did encompass banishing my brother and stealing his throne. I did not actually want it, I think. I wanted to be _worthy_ of being a King of Asgard. I…" he hesitates. "You do know I was adopted?"

"Thor mentioned it once."

"Did he tell you where I come from?"

"He didn't."

"I was born on Jotunheim. The ancient enemy of Asgard. Odin adopted me as an infant, for one or another of his schemes. I imagine he tried to treat me and Thor as equals until I started taking after our elder sister Hela. Well, that is another story. Our parents never told me I was adopted. So when I learned I was a Jotun I..." his voice falters. "I attempted to kill them all."

"To prove you were Asgardian to the bone and your blood did not matter," Natasha says.

He looks at her, startled. "Yes."

"I was born in Soviet Russia," Natasha says. "Born and raised, until I defected. It matters a lot to some people."

Loki nods. "I know the type. Well. There's not much else to the story. Thor broke the Bifrost to stop me. We were both thrown off the bridge. My hand slipped. I fell into a vortex in the void and from there, at the feet of Thanos' lieutenant, ripe for using." He lets out a humorless little laugh. "You know, I was a King of Asgard for a few years afterwards. I cannot say I did not like it, but I always knew it was going to end. I'm not suited for a throne."

"Better to be a right hand man?"

Loki nods. "Yes."

They're quiet for a while. Loki is fiddling with his hands, magic forgotten for a while.

"This network of yours," he says. "Is there some use for me in it, when my magic is better? I know you would not want an alien who tried to conquer the world running around under your command, but I do want to help."

"I can probably think of something. Why?"

Loki smiles, mischievous but not unkind. "You said it first. I have red in my ledger. I would like to wipe it out."

#

#### fifteen: Steve, in an autumn evening

"Riding a motorcycle cannot be too hard," Thor says, when they're walking back to where Steve has parked it. "It seems to me that you mostly sit on it and turn as necessary."

"That's the gist of it, yeah," Steve says, grinning.

"Teach me, then."

"Alright. Starting _tomorrow_. It's late enough to get frost on the roads, I don't think you need that while learning. Besides," and he leans his shoulder against Thor's, "if you know how to ride, then there's no reason any more for us to ride double."

"Cannot ride pillion if someone else is driving?" Thor asks, amused.

On the one hand, Steve does hate letting others drive. On the other, riding double with Thor would not be such a bad idea. He hums and doesn't say anything.

The road between the town and Avengers Facility is sparsely lit, but the sky is clear and the moon half-full, probably enough to see by even without the light of Steve's motorcycle. Steve drives slower than he did during summer, mindful of the possible ice. Thor's arms around him feel warm.

The Facility is mostly dark at this hour. There's no light in Loki's bedroom and one pale one in Natasha's, probably her nightlight. Steve and Thor are mindful of the others being possibly asleep as they make their way through the kitchen and up the stairs.

Thor lets go of Steve's hand on the second floor and kisses him, gentle as always. The room Thor moved into after it was certain he and Loki would stay at the Facility is on the same floor as Steve's, but further down the corridor. They rarely sleep in the same room. Neither of them is quite alright yet so this – this relationship has been slow and quiet.

Steve feels alright, though. He steps closer to Thor, their bodies pressed together and kisses him as certain as he knows. Thor tastes like the dessert they had, and underneath that, the wine they both mostly drink for its taste, since Thor burns alcohol nearly as fast as Steve. Thor kisses back, slightly reserved, so Steve slides his hand under the waist of Thor's jacket.

Thor breaks the kiss. "Do you –" he asks.

"Yes," Steve says.

His room is closer. They manage to not fall over on the way there, tangled in each other. Thor kicks the door closed behind them, quiet enough. He's lost his jacket. Steve really hopes it's not out in the corridor somewhere because neither of them would live it down, but then Thor pushes Steve's jacket off his shoulders and presses Steve himself against the door, gentle and firm and Steve cannot think of anything else.

He attempts to remove Thor's shirt, but Thor is trailing kisses down his neck and that makes Steve's breath catch. He wants to – he wants. Thor's back is solid and warm under his hands. He can feel Thor's erection against his hip.

"We're not going to – make it to bed if you keep this up," Steve manages to say.

"That _would_ be a pity," Thor agrees and kisses him for one more time, before stepping back and starting at Steve's own buttons. Steve takes Thor's hand and they cross the last few feet to Steve's bed.

Thor is sublime in the moonlight. His hands are – not rough, precisely, but calloused differently than Steve's own and his grip is just firm enough and Steve cannot do much but hold on to Thor and gasp into his neck as he comes.

"Let me," Steve says when he's sensible again. Thor is still wearing pants. This is a travesty. "I don't think it's proper unless both people get off."

"Proper?" Thor asks, half-laughing, but he raises his hips to let Steve finish undressing him. "I would not use this word."

"You do know what I mean," Steve says and kisses Thor's clavicle.

"I am fairly certain I could come from simply looking at you enjoying this," Thor says, and his voice is dark and hungry and that – Steve cannot say he would not want to try that, maybe with their roles reversed –

He slides his palm over Thor's cock. Thor arches against him and whispers his name. Steve tries the same movement again. The sound Thor makes is indescribable, so Steve kisses him and starts stroking for certain, until Thor comes with a groan in Steve's mouth and hand gripping Steve's hip.

Steve eases himself down, rests his head on Thor's shoulder. Thor is pleasantly warm against him, his breathing still uneven.

"That was," Steve says, and doesn't know how to finish the sentence.

"Certainly," Thor answers and slides his hand down Steve's side, mapping the muscles under his skin. "I wish to do that again."

Steve smiles against Thor's shoulder. "Let a guy catch his breath, will you?"

"Only if I can steal it again," Thor says and Steve laughs quietly.

#

#### sixteen: Natasha, being content

Christmas is a drawn-out affair this year, since Thor and Loki celebrate the solstice on the twenty-first, Natasha herself has always preferred having the big dinner on the twenty-fourth, Steve is used to celebrating on twenty-fifth. What it really means is a week full of celebration.

Okoye is in Wakanda and also celebrates the solstice, not Christmas. Rhodey and Carol are with their families this year. Nebula and Rocket make it back by twenty-fourth, though, and while neither of them is not quite used to Christmas, a proper feast is a universal concept. Nebula helps cook, gingerly, like she's not quite certain she's allowed to. Rocket makes adjustments to their Christmas tree.

After the dinner, Thor makes glögg, insisting that it's not the same thing as mulled wine and has to be prepared by an expert. Loki rolls his eyes, smiling. Steve offers his help and is drawn into the process.

This is the best Christmas Natasha has had. Things are – not good, exactly, nothing after the Halving is unalloyed good. But things are better, nonetheless.


End file.
